Evidently he had made his preparations, for concealed in the shadow at the end of the hut they found three horses, saddled and bridled. It was darker now, for the moon was hidden by a big bank of cloud, but there was light enough to show, towering above them, a black bulk of mountain which Phil guessed must be the second of the Pinnacles. Their guide, however, gave them little time to study the scenery.
“Gotta hurry,” he said in his curious gruff voice. “There’s on’y one trail for the first few miles.”
When they were mounted he went ahead, the girl following, and Embley bringing up the rear. The pathway, for it was nothing more, led along the face of the mountain. The girl shuddered as she remembered that she must have ridden this route blindfold.
Her mind, however, was too full to dwell long even on present danger. The dead bandit’s revelation had made it clear why her father had hated and yet suffered Bartholomew, but it did not explain the mystery of his disappearance, and it left her still guessing as to Severn. And the queer little outlaw who for no apparent reason was effecting their escape, what part did he play in this tangled web of intrigue and crime? Silently, slumped forward in his saddle, he paced ahead of her, for the road was too narrow and rough to permit more than a walking gait.
They had been riding for more than an hour, a long, gradual descent, when the leader turned off the trail into a little forest of pines, halted and got down.
“Heard somethin’—goin’ to scout a few,” he said laconically. “Stay here, an’ keep quiet.”
Without waiting for any reply, he climbed back up the waythey had come and vanished in the gloom. The girl edged her horse over to Embley.
“Do you think he is to be trusted?” she whispered.
“I believe so, and he’s our only chance,” the Judge replied. “Personally, I am prepared to take any risk to reach Hope in time to foil that scoundrel Bartholomew. If they hang Severn—”
The return of the outlaw put an end to the conversation. He was hurrying, and it was evident he brought news.
“They’re a-comin’—musta got back sooner,” he panted, flinging himself into the saddle. “No use tryin’ to hide—they know this country like yu do yore own doorstep. We’ll have to stand ‘em off; there’s a Winchester on yore saddle, Judge, an’ I know a good place.”
Leaving the trees, they followed him at a gallop across an open space of perhaps a quarter of a mile, and pulled up at the foot of a tall bluff where a number of fallen fragments from the cliff above offered a rough rampart. Tying the horses behind the biggest of the boulders, and finding Phil a safe position, the two men lay down, rifles ready.
“Cuss that moon,” muttered the little man, for the clouds had passed.
“It’ll help us more than them,” the Judge pointed out. “They can’t rush us.”
“Shore, but we can’t sneak away,” the other argued. “There they are. What’s the idea?”
“Flag of truce—they want to talk.”
Four riders had emerged from the pines, and one of them, ahead of the rest, was waving a white scarf. They came boldly on until they were some two hundred yards away, and then Patch stood up.
“That’ll be near enough,” he called out. “Anythin’ on yore mind?”
“What’s the idea, Patch, runnin’ off the prisoners thisaway?” the leader asked.
“I got my reasons but I ain’t explainin’ to yu,” the one-eyed man replied coolly. “I’ll give yu a bit of advice, though; light a shuck an’ get outa the country while the goin’s good.”
The outlaw laughed. “Feelin’ yore oats some, ain’t yu?” he sneered. “We’ll go when we’re good an’ ready, but first we want the gal an’ the Judge.”
“Come an’ get ‘em,” retorted the little man.
“No need to take risks,” the other pointed out. “Yu can’t git away. All we gotta do is wait till help comes; we’ve sent for it.”
“Who’d yu send—Slick?” Patch asked, and chuckled when he heard the curse the question provoked.”Well, what yu goin’ to do?” the bandit queried.
“Shoot if yu don’t show yore tail mighty sudden,” snapped out the one-eyed man, standing clear and levelling his rifle.
With a furious gesture the fellow wheeled his horse, and at the same moment came three spurts of flame from behind him. Patch regained his shelter untouched, he and the Judge sending shots in return. Apparently they met with no success, for they saw the attackers vanish into the gloom of the pines. For some time silence reigned.
“All bluff about sendin’ for help,” Patch remarked. “They ain’t got no one to send. Betcher they try an’ Injun up on us; there’s a cloud a-comin’ now.”
He was right. In a few moments a veil of vapour misted the moon. Peering through the uncertain light, Patch fancied he could see a dark blotch moving laboriously over the grass. Carefully taking aim, he fired; the blotch seemed to give a spasmodic jerk and then subside. The next moment a loop dropped over his arms and he was flung violently backwards, his gun clattering on the stones beside him. Dazed by the fall, he felt the rope twisted about him; a few turns and he was powerless. A glance showed that his companions were in no better case. Bitterly he realised that the attackers had outwitted him. While one of them sneaked up in front, the other three had crept around the open space and come upon them from the rear. The man who had borne the flag of truce was regarding him with an ugly look.
“Well, Patch, yo’re goin’ to learn it don’t pay to renig,” he said.
He drew his pistol on the prostrate prisoner. In another second the bullet would have sped, but a cool, rasping voice intervened:
“‘Scuse me, gents, but is this a private scrap, or can anybody horn in?” it said.
The startled outlaws looked up to find the tables turned; two strangers, who had stolen up unperceived, were covering them with levelled pistols.
“Shootin’ a man when yu got him hog-tied don’t appeal none to me,” the newcomer continued. “Reach for the sky, yu coyotes.”
Two of the bandits promptly obeyed, but the would-be slayer of Patch, who had his gun out, took a chance and turned it on the stranger. But he was not quick enough; the other’s gun crashed and the outlaw went down, sprawling grotesquely. One glance showed that he was dead, and the man who had fired the shot nodded his satisfaction. He then stepped over to the girl.
“Well, Miss Phil, so we’ve found yu at last,” he said.
She gave a cry of joy. “Why, Rayton, how do you happen to be here?” she asked.
“Severn left me an’ Purdy of the XT to comb the Pinnacles after we failed to find yu at the Cavern,” the cowboy explained. “We was shore gettin’ disheartened when we heard the shootin’ an’ p’inted for it.” He looked at Embley. “Burn my hide, if it ain’t the Judge!”
In as few words as possible the lawyer outlined the position. The cowboy bit on an oath when he learned of Severn’s danger. “What we better do?” he asked in perplexity.
“We must get out of the mountains as quickly as we can,” the Judge said. “Then Miss Masters, myself and this fellow Patch will head for Hope, while you and the XT man will collect your outfits and follow us. We may be in time.”
Patch was released, and the other two men were set adrift, unarmed, with the plain intimation that if they remained in the country they would be shot on sight. The journey to the plains was then resumed. The Judge rode in silence, his head down, and was impatient of the slightest delay. Phil realised that this was due to his anxiety for Severn’s safety, and it impressed her. Only once she summoned the courage to ask him a question.
“Is it true that Severn was once known as Sudden, the outlaw?”
“Yes, but he was not an outlaw, he was a deputy-sheriff in the employ of the Governor,” the Judge told her. “You don’t like Severn, but one day I hope you’ll know him better, and realise —what you owe him.”
The old man’s voice was rather stern and contained more than a hint of reprof. She said no more.
; Chapter XXI
ON the morning of Severn’s dramatic return to captivity, the town seethed with excitement. This state of affairs provided material for thought of some of the citizens.
“Suthin’s goin’ on,” Bent remarked to Callahan. “There’s men spendin’ money on licker that never had none to spend afore, an’ I got Greasers at my bar now that I’d ‘a’ throwed out on their ears yestiddy, knowin’ they couldn’t pay.”
“What possessed Severn to come trapesin back?” asked the storekeeper.
“He’s one square fella—he wouldn’t run away,” Bent told him. “Trouble is, he won’t git a straight deal.”
“True for ye. Kape an eye on the store while I step up to the `Come Again’ an’ find out about Lufton.”
As the storekeeper went along the street, the signs of unrest were apparent. Little groups of men were dotted about arguing, gesticulating, and the grimness of their faces conveyed an atmosphere of menace. He noticed that the nucleus of nearly every gathering consisted of one or two of the Bar B punchers.
“Bart’s workin’ the town up, an’ for what?” he asked himself.
Passing through the swing-doors of the saloon, he found that rumour for once had spoken truly. At a table in a far corner, apart from the sullen, threatening customers who crowded the bar, Black Bart was entertaining a visitor. This was a thin, shambling figure of a man approaching fifty, dressed in a shiny black coat, trousers stuffed into boot-tops, a collar far from clean, and a cravat which bore abundant evidence of having been too often tied by stumbling fingers. The puffy face, receding jaw, and vacillating eyes told their own story. This was Judge Luf ton, who had obtained office by political wire-pulling, and in spite of certain lapses, had hitherto managed to hold it by the same means. Had Callahan been able to hear their conversation, he would have found the answer to his question.
“Yu’ve happened along just hunky, Judge,” Bart was saying, as he filled the visitor’s glass. “Yo’re the man this town’s needin’ bad right now.”
The man of law straightened up in his chair. “As an unworthy servant of the public, Mr. Bartholomew, I am at the disposal of the citizens,” he said unctuously. “In what way—?”
“There’s a criminal in the calaboose here waitin’ to be tried,” Bart told him. “He’s a desperate character—got away last night, but was recaptured by the sheriff.” The lie slipped easily from his lips.
“What is the offence?” Lufton inquired.
“He robbed the bank here, shot the manager, an’ murdered an old friend o’ mine,” the Bar B owner returned coolly. “If that ain’t enough, there’s other charges.”
“Providence having given us only one neck apiece, I should say it was more than enough,” the Judge said, with ponderous humour. “Why don’t you send him to the capital?”
“To escape on the way, or get off with a packed jury ‘cause he’s got a pull somewheres, huh?” Bart retorted. “No, sir, this town can do its own tryin’. As I told yu, the fella’s a hard case. Mebbe it’ll surprise yu to hear he’s the chap as used to be known as Sudden, the outlaw.”
The Judge was surprised; his vacuous eyes opened. “But if I remember rightly, Sudden was supposed to have been in the employ of the Governor,” he remarked.
“There yu are,” Bartholomew said triumphantly. “That was the excuse for lettin’ him off; yu see, he has got a pull.”
“If he’s still got it—” Lufton began dubiously.
“He ain’t,” the rancher cut in. “An’ the cases against him are plain open an’ shut this time. Besides, all yu gotta do is try the fella; the jury finds the verdict. Once that’s given, what happens ain’t no business o’ yourn.”
There was a sinister suggestion in the last words which made the other man look up apprehensively.
“You mustn’t forget that I represent the law, Mr. Bartholomew,” he pointed out, with a rather ludicrous attempt at dignity.
“Ain’t that the very reason I’m askin’ yu to take charge?” the big man retorted. “Now, see here, Judge; the folks in thisyer town are gettin’ all het up over this case—most of ‘em lost money m the robbery, an’ the fella as was rubbed out was plenty popular. I’ve got ‘em millin’ as yet, but if they stampede there’ll be a neck-tie party shore as yo’re born, an’ that won’t look too good with a reg’ler judge in the town who might ‘a’ given the accused a fair trial an’ done things legal.”
Lufton emptied his glass, replenishing it with a shaky hand. He had experience of the West, had seen mob law at work, and knew that in the state of tension the town was now in, a spark would cause an explosion. Surely, in the interest of law and order, it was his duty to step in and see justice meted out to the malefactor. Bartholomew’s next remark decided him.
“There’ll be a fee o’ two hundred dollars,” he said. “Course, if yu’d rather we waited for Embley …”
Lufton winced like a spurred horse; he hated the Desert Edge jurist, a fact of which Bartholomew was well aware.
“No need for that,” he said. “I’ll take the case.”
“Good for yu,” Bartholomew smiled. “I don’t mind admittin’ that I’m glad. Embley ain’t popular round here, he’s a pal o’ the prisoner, an’ there’s more than a suspicion that he’s in cahoots with him to grab the murdered man’s property.”
Lufton’s eyes gleamed evilly. “Shouldn’t be surprised,” he sneered. “There’s usually mud at the bottom o’ still water. When yu startin’ the trial?”
“Half an hour’s time,” replied the rancher. “No sense in waitin’, an’ it wouldn’t be safe anyways. I’ll tell Muger to get this place cleared for it.”
The news that the accused was to be tried at once by Judge Lufton spread like wildfire through the town, and the general feeling was one of satisfaction. Never before had Hope Again enjoyed such a sensation. Killings, followed by summary justice were not unknown, but a regular trial by an official judge was a novelty, and the “Come Again” soon bore witness to the fact. Indeference to Lufton’s position, some endeavour was made to give the room a court-like appearance. The judge’s bench was represented by a table, with seats on either side for the more important citizens. Twelve chairs were arranged for the jury, another for the sheriff. Immediately in front of the Judge were three more chairs, the middle one for the prisoner, and the others for the deputies guarding him; this was the dock. The onlookers perched themselves on such support as they could find, or lolled against the walls.
Severn’s first intimation that he was to be put on his trial immediately came from the deputy, Jake, whom he had treated so unceremoniously the night before. The man appeared to bear no malice, for he grinned cheerfully through the spyhole as he said :
“Better be gittin’ ready to speak yore piece, Severn; the Judge’ll be wantin’ yu at the court mighty soon.”
“Has Embley turned up, then?” asked the prisoner.
“Now, Lufton’s goin’ to try yu, an’ I’m bound to say it’s mean luck he should happen along. If yu got any argyments yu better think ‘em up, for yu’ll need some.”
The voice of the other deputy broke in. “Fetch him along—just got word he’s needed.”
“There, I’ve done wasted yore time,” Jake said regretfully. “Yu’ll have to think up suthin’ on the way.”
Certainly the prisoner had plenty to occupy his mind as, with an armed deputy on either side, he paced up the street. Calculating his chances the night before, he had come to the conclusion that apart from a possibility of being lynched, he was in no immediate danger; either he would be tried in Hope by Judge Embley, or sent to the capital. The advent of a strange and possibly hostile judge was, as he had to admit, “a hoss of a different brand,” and this indecent haste to bring him to account looked ominous. He wished now that he had not ordered his outfit to keep away from Hope; if it came to the worst …
The entry of the accused increased the buzz of conversation in the crowded court-room. With calm confidence he walked to the doc
k, took off his hat, and sat down. His bonds had been removed, but the deputies drew their guns as they sat beside him. There was a suspicion of a smile on Severn’s face as he noted the precaution. He looked at the Judge, then the jury—which had already been empanelled—and realised that he stood no chance; the twelve “good men and true” were all supporters of Bartholomew, and had been chosen for that reason. His steady eyes swept the audience. He saw Bent, Callahan and Larry, and was searching for Lunt when the little gunman entered, followed by four of the Bar B outfit. His face told Severn a story.
“Snap’s killin’ mad,” he concluded. “Reckon when he heard o’ this he started to fetch the boys, an’ them four jaspers held him up an’ are ridin’ herd on him. Bart don’t want no interference.”
Lounging in a chair by the side of the Judge, with Martin, and several of his men, Bartholomew could not keep the gloating satisfaction out of his eyes. Nevertheless, from time to time he glanced expectantly at the door, and the prisoner smiled grimly —Bartholomew was wondering what had become of his foreman. A rap on the judge’s table stopped the hum of conversation.
“Well, sheriff, what is the charge against the prisoner?” Lufton asked.
Tyler rose, puffing out his chest in a hopeless attempt to appear dignified. The sheriff was very satisfied with himself. “There’s a right smart o’ charges, Judge,” he stated. “Attemptin’ to kill Mister Martin here, robbin’ the bank an’ shootin’ the manager, murderin’ Philip Masters, breakin’ gaol—”
“Well, well, I reckon that’ll do to go on with,” Lufton interrupted. “We’ll take the bank robbery and the murder. If he’s guilty of them we can let him off the rest.”
The bitter witticism sent a ripple of merriment round the room, and the maker of it permitted himself a thin-lipped smile. “The court will deal with the robbery first,” he decided. “Call your evidence, sheriff.”
Rapson, the banker, stepped forward and gave his account of the raid. Questioned by the Judge, he admitted that the robbers’ faces were so hidden that he could not see them, but in clothes, height and build the man who shot at him might have been the accused. Further, Severn had drawn out his money just before the robbery took place, and the notes handed to him did not include those he was trying to cash when arrested, which were part of the plunder. Lufton looked severely at the prisoner.
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) Page 18